His Frozen Heart

by Nancy Straight

  Dave moved in closer to Teddy, and Teddy took a step back giving Dave some room. He shot a dazzling smile my way, and said, “Ladies, if you’re done with Teddy, I need to talk to him for a minute.”

  Libby had gathered up all the twenties off of the floor and shoved them in her purse. “Sure. We were just leaving.”

  In a commanding voice, meant to knock Teddy down a couple inches, Dave asked, “I saw you toss her winnings at her. You weren’t disrespecting the ladies, were you?” Libby was a few steps ahead of me, but I was frozen in place by Dave’s question to Teddy.

  Teddy’s voice answered in a friendly tone, “No. Of course not, Boss. Just wrapping up a friendly game.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Dave turned toward me, held out his hand and said, “I’m Mark. I’m sorry we couldn’t meet under better circumstances. Can you stick around for a drink?”

  Mark? What the hell? His name was Dave. I took his hand in an odd way, not understanding the game he was playing. I’d known him since the day he turned my piece-of-shit car I’d rescued from the scrap heap into a muscle car. He had to have recognized me. Regardless of what was going on between the two men, he had definitely come to our rescue with Teddy, so I decided to play along. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Mark. I’m Candy.”

  Dave’s eyes locked on mine as he asked a second time, “A drink?”

  “Um, no thanks. Libby and I were just leaving.”

  In a smooth voice he answered, “My loss. I’ll be here next Tuesday night. Maybe I’ll see you then.”

  There was something weird about Dave’s voice. It sounded deeper than the last time I had heard it – older for sure. Not a surprise, he was two years older than the last time I had seen him. As big as his chest was, maybe he had taken steroids or something, but I think those make a man’s voice rise not get deeper.

  “Maybe. I don’t usually go out on Tuesdays, but I’ll try.” I turned my attention to Libby who stood several feet away. “Ready?”

  With my back to Dave, I heard him say, “I’ve got some business with Teddy. I hope you two lovely ladies have a good evening.”

  With that, we had been dismissed. None too soon, either. Libby’s eyes had taken in all of Dave, as well. From her expression, she was just as impressed with the changes as I had been. I watched her sizing him up, but I grabbed her shoulder to move her away from all the testosterone. Libby made a straight line to the bar; she had agreed to give Chris twenty, but it looked like she slid him closer to sixty.

  He nodded his thanks then jammed the cash in his pocket. We were outside in the frigid air a few seconds later. The temperature did nothing to quiet her when she asked loudly, “That was Dave Brewer? Holy shit, did he move into a gym?”

  I shook my head, “I don’t know, maybe. You want me to go back in and ask?”

  She pushed me toward my car, “Funny. Drive.”

  Chapter 4

  We got home after 8:00 PM. Libby was right: I had just enough time for a quick nap before I had to go to work at midnight. She promised to go to the grocery store in order to have manicotti waiting for me when I woke up. The free chicken wings I had eaten at the bar had taken the edge off of my hunger, so getting to sleep would be easy enough.

  I wondered how long she would be able to keep this pool sharking up. Libby was good, really good. She’d make more money in a bigger city like Omaha or Chicago, but there was a much better chance that she’d get knifed there, too. There were nights she lost, but few, if any, where she lost big. Tonight was the first time in a really long time that I worried she might have to come up with money she didn’t have.

  I lay down and snuggled into my pillow. The cool caress of my sheets was short-lived. I awoke briefly when I heard Libby’s high-pitched call from downstairs, “Candy! Candy!!” Startling awake, I propped myself up on my elbows, picked up my phone from my nightstand and saw that I still had five minutes before I needed to wake up.

  I wondered if I had heard my name in a dream or if Libby had called to me. I sat up for a few seconds to listen for her – nothing. Libby was always screwing with the settings on the clocks in the house, so none of them were the same time. The one on the stove was five minutes fast, the one in the living room was ten minutes ahead. I eased my head back onto my pillow – the few hours of sleep wasn’t enough, and I desperately wanted my other five minutes. It felt like my eyes had just barely closed when my phone began ringing.

  The ring was easy to ignore – I was too tired to talk to anyone. I used the alarm on my phone instead of my alarm clock, which sounded different than my ring tone. I tuned out the annoying caller in favor of my final minutes of much needed sleep. Whoever was calling me could wait. I dozed off again.

  My phone rang again. I reached over to push “ignore” when I saw the time. 12:20 – shit, I was twenty minutes late for work! Leaping out of bed, I grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweater and flung them both on, not even bothering to look at myself in the mirror. My fingers weaved through my hair, tying it in a messy pony tail, then began lacing my leather boots. They stopped just below my knee, so I skipped half the eyelets and tucked the laces in the top. I shoved my books, which had been scattered around my room, into my backpack as the smell of Libby’s manicotti wafted upstairs.

  I bounded down the steps, two at a time. Libby was lying still on the couch in the dark living room with the television on. A small casserole dish with stuffed manicotti was waiting for me on the kitchen table. Something was on the wall behind the couch, but before I could get a closer look, my phone screeched to life again – how many calls was that? I saw the caller ID: it was Maria at the gas station, the lady who I should have relieved over twenty minutes ago. I accepted the call and blurted into the phone, “Maria, I’m so sorry. I overslept. I’m on my way right now.”

  She was wholly pissed off, “My babysitter charges me by the minute after twelve-thirty.”

  “I’m sorry. I swear I’ll be there in ten minutes. No pass down, you can jet as soon as I hit the parking lot. I’ll relieve you an hour early tomorrow night.” I grabbed my coat, bolted into the cold night air, rushed down the front steps to my car, not even bothering to shut off the television or to tell Libby thanks for the dinner.

  “I’m telling Mr. Sanders you’re late again.”

  I was already in my car. The roar of the engine momentarily drowned out the swear words she was firing at me. I pleaded, “Please don’t. I swear I just overslept. I’m in my car now.”

  I gunned the engine, and my car responded immediately. I loved my car.

  Maria hung up on me. I hoped she didn’t make a big deal about it to our boss. Of my three jobs, this was the one I liked the best. Midnight to seven, five nights a week. I could bring my books with me and study most of the night. Customers weren’t allowed in the store after ten, so other than the occasional request for a pack of cigarettes, there were very few disruptions.

  Maria was already in her car as I flew into the tiny parking lot. She rolled her window down and threw the keys toward me before I had even shut my car off – they landed in the snow a few feet away. Damn, she was going to tell Mr. Sanders. I couldn’t afford to get fired from this job. I needed it.

  I slung my book bag over my shoulder before I reached down to the ground, digging through the pile of snow for the keys. Hopefully Mr. Sanders would come in early tomorrow before Maria could call him. That would give me a chance to explain. I thought of all the little crappy jobs around the store that I could do tonight to make up for being late.

  An old Chevy Nova pulled up to the pump as I was unlocking the door to the store. It was tricked out with wide wheels, chrome everywhere, and a black matte finish. I couldn’t help but check it out as I secured the deadbolt behind me after I was inside the store. I took my perch behind the window, finished lacing up my boots, brushed my hair into a more presentable pony tail, and put some lip balm on.

  I sat in the booth, and if anyone needed something besides gas, I could sell them pop, snacks, ciga
rettes and beer, but I did it through the nifty little drawer. No one came inside. Most customers just needed fuel and paid at the pump, so I could go hours without talking to anyone on my shift.

  As all-night convenience store jobs go, this one was better than most. Mr. Sanders didn’t like to talk about it, but one of his clerks had been shot and killed a few years ago. After it happened, he changed the policy: the doors stayed locked from 10 PM to 6 AM, and bullet-proof glass was installed on every window. Occasionally, someone would come in who was too dense to figure out how to work the pumps, so I’d go outside to help, but that almost never happened.

  The driver of the Nova made his way to my window after he had pumped and paid for his gas. I didn’t recognize the car, and the driver reminded me of a little Banty rooster. It was minus ten degrees, yet he was only wearing a sweatshirt, strutting up to the window. “Hi. I need a Coke and a pack of Salems.”

  I reached over and grabbed the cigarettes, then leaned into the pop cabinet to retrieve his drink. “Six, forty-nine.”

  He slid a ten into the drawer then cocked his head toward my car. “Nice wheels. Is that a ‘68?”

  I placed his items and change into the drawer and slid it to him. I was used to compliments on my car. It was a classic and by far one of the sexiest cars on the road. “’66.”

  “Nice. If I had a car like that, I wouldn’t be driving it. That’d be in the garage.”

  Trying to be polite, “Your Nova’s not bad. Why isn’t it in your garage?”

  “Yeah, it’s a ’76 and it’s nice, but it’s not a Chevelle.”

  “Driving it is my only alternative to walking, and I’m not hoofing it in this weather.”

  “I hear that. Rebuilt the Nova myself. Hey, it’s freezing out here. Can I come inside?”

  “Sorry, against store policy. If you need anything else, I can get it.” Every now and again, someone would ask for something that wouldn’t fit through the little drawer. When that happened, I would open the door and hand their item to them, but that wasn’t anything I offered up unless someone needed a frozen pizza or a bottle of windshield wash.

  He jerked his head toward my car, “Any girl who drives a ‘66 Chevelle is worth getting to know. Let me in for a minute. It’s freezing out here.” I sized him up. I liked his car, but I would tower over him, and he couldn’t be all that bright if he was out in this weather with just a sweatshirt.

  I pasted on my sweetest smile, “Sorry, I’d get fired if I let you in.”

  Oblivious to my disinterest, he asked, “How about your number? I’ll give you a call.” Something was off about this guy. He was coming on a little too strong. I’d seen plenty of guys come through at all hours of the night: none had given me a second look. My car was awesome, but I’d never had anyone who wanted my number because of it.

  “Sorry, again. I have a boyfriend.” I didn’t, but something bothered me about this guy. I was anxious for him to get into his car and leave.

  He pursed his lips together in a grimace, “That’s my luck. Hey, can I get the key to the men’s room?”

  I slid the key through the drawer. As he walked around the side of the building, I watched him on the security camera. He walked around back, but didn’t try to use the men’s room. He lit up a cigarette outside the restroom and stood there huddled against the wall. That was odd.

  Keeping an eye on the surveillance monitor, I reached into my book bag and pulled out my business law book. I hated that class and had been neglecting the reading assignments because of it. I’d spend the first hour tonight doing the last couple days’ reading assignments, then a few hours prepping for my test. I needed to fit in some “crap job” time, like restocking the cooler or refilling the pop display by the window, to make up for my tardy arrival.

  I saw the guy throw his cigarette butt on the ground. He still didn’t use the restroom. Strange. The guy walked back to my little convenience window. When he stood in front of me, he didn’t put the key back in the drawer. Instead he said, “Hey, the door is jammed or something. It won’t unlock.”

  Warning bells started going off in my head. I’d watched him the whole time. He never even tried to open the door. Unsure what type of game he was playing, I accused, “I was watching the camera. It didn’t look like you tried the key.”

  His forehead wrinkled as his eyes narrowed. “You calling me a liar?”

  Attempting to keep any alarm out of my voice, I offered, “Um, do you want to try the key to the ladies’ room?”

  “Yeah, sure.” The man made no move to return the key he already had.

  I slid the drawer forward, “I’ll need the key to the men’s room first, then I can give you the other key.”

  “Oh, right. I must have left it in the door. Just a minute.”

  Now I was thoroughly nervous. He went toward the back of the place a second time. A big Ford pickup truck pulled up to one of the pumps. I was trying to watch the guy around back on the monitor but had lost him when the truck pulled up. Damn it, where had he gone? I watched the grainy security images from the cameras around the perimeter of the building, but it was like he had just vanished. The man’s Nova was still waiting patiently near pump one.

  By the time the woman from the Ford had finished pumping her gas, I began to get tense because there was still no sign of the guy. She got back in her truck and was pulling out when I saw a flicker of him on the back side of the building. The camera had captured his movement, but not him. That was it – I’d had enough. We had a panic button under the counter; if I pushed it, the police would be here in five minutes. I re-angled the camera near the pump to get a good visual of the guy’s license plate then wrote it down on a slip of paper.

  The camera on the back of the building went from a grainy black and white image to nothing but black. I tapped the monitor. Had it been an equipment malfunction or had the man done something to the camera? I turned the camera which had been zoomed in on his license plate and reangled it toward the back of the building. It wouldn’t turn far enough to provide a clear view of the back of the building. Shit. Where was he?

  The tiny hairs on the nape of my neck stood up. The lady who had my job before I was hired had pressed the silent alarm three times in a month, each time over nothing. Mr. Sanders let her go after the third false alarm, so I didn’t want to press the button unless I really needed the police.

  I took another look at the black monitor in front of me. A suspicious man was here while I was alone. He said the bathroom door was jammed, yet I knew he hadn’t even tried to open it. He had tried to get me to let him inside even though there were signs everywhere saying no entry after 10 PM. I pushed the panic button under the counter before I could talk myself out of it. The device sent a silent signal to the police station – if it turned out to be a glitch in the surveillance system, I would apologize profusely to Mr. Sanders tomorrow. My eyes went to the clock: 12: 43. The police should be here by 12:48.

  My eyes continued looking at the three working monitors, attempting to find him somewhere in the shadows. A second monitor went out. There were four cameras on the premises: one on the pumps, one on the front door that showed the front of the store, one on the back near the restrooms, and the fourth around back aimed in on the dumpster.

  The cameras by the restroom and dumpster were now both out. The one by the pumps worked, but it could not see the back of the store, and the one aimed in on front was taking footage of me through the glass getting more freaked out by the second.

  I picked up my cell. Who could I call? What would I say? I’m in a safe place but a customer who refuses to use the restroom is scaring me. Yeah, the few friends I had would think I’m a head case. I watched headlights on the street whiz past the gas station, praying one of the vehicles might pull in. I didn’t want to be alone.

  An object flew through the air in front of the window where I sat. The camera in front of the store now only registered black like the other two. This wasn’t a glitch: he was breaking the securi
ty cameras. My heart had been gaining speed and was now beating so loudly that it drowned out all other sounds. Heat welled up in my body as I felt my face flush with fear.

  I looked at the clock: 12:45. For God’s sake, where were the cops? The man was slithering toward me along the side of the building. What did the guy look like? I tried to get a good look at him in case he left before the police arrived. He was shorter than me, maybe five feet, six inches on a good day. He wore a black sweatshirt that zipped in the front, well-worn black jeans which were too long, rumpled at his feet. Tan work boots stuck out under his over-sized jeans. He looked to be in his early to mid-twenties. It was freezing outside, but he wore no gloves or hat. His brown hair was short, sort of wavy, and his ears and cheeks were beet red from the cold.

  I tried to mask the fear I was feeling. I tucked my shaking hands under the counter so he couldn’t see them.

  He positioned himself directly in front of me, leering at me through the glass, “The men’s room still won’t open. Here’s the key.” He held the key up that was attached to a ridiculously large sign that said “men’s.” I slid the drawer open for him to drop the key into it.

  He held the key high above the drawer with his index finger and thumb, dangling it in the air. My voice shook like a dog in a thunderstorm. “Put the key in the drawer.”

  The man gave me a thin smile and offered, “Maybe you could come out and give the door a try?”

  I shook my head that I couldn’t, but said nothing.

  “Oh, come on. A big tough pool hustler like yourself? You’re not scared of a guy like me, are you? Come on out and give me a hand.”

  Pool hustler? Who was this guy and what was he talking about? My mind whizzed through all the recent games Libby and I had played – I’d never even seen him before.

  He held his smile, but his eyes narrowed. “Swimming with the sharks can be hazardous to your health.” He dropped the washroom key into the outstretched drawer with a loud thud, then reached his hand inside the pocket of his sweatshirt. I grinned to myself, knowing he had to have left a fingerprint on it and pulled the drawer closed. My grin must have ticked him off, because he asked, “You like swimming with the sharks, Princess? Teddy wants his four hundred dollars back. Give me the money, or you’ll never swim again.”